Like Porcelain
by Hillside Dancing On
Summary: Diva liked dolls, but not the way they always fell apart. It was nice to know that even if dolls didn't stay with her forever, Karl always would. KarlDiva.


**Disclaimer: Blood+ does not belong to me. I'm just a fan who writes during study halls, albeit not very well.**

* * *

The doll was perfect, though they say that nothing is; Diva thought it was and that was the end of the argument.

It was a porcelain doll, with cocoa brown hair that fell not in curls but waves all around the delicate face with its shining green eyes (the same color as the dress, an expensive silken affair on which tiny hands rested demurely). Behind whiter-than-white teeth made of polished ivory, its small smile radiated a level of sincerity that Diva herself was not familiar with and did not care to adopt.

Amshel had bought it for her on his latest venture, this time to the Czech Republic with plans to further his understanding of her blood and body, and hopefully find a way to grant her the daughters she so longed for. He had been unsuccessful, so Diva knew that it was a small matter of restitution when he appeared before her, travel-scuffed and smelling of the plane but never weary, placed the box in her hands and assured her he loved her.

It was truly a work of art.

But works of art were not made to withstand Diva's hold, a noose most loving which tightened with her fluctuating moods, and it wasn't long before the doll's sweet little face cracked into a dozen lines, half thread thin, half thick. For the first time, she saw the dull white interior of its head like a stark vacuum. Nobody home.

It wouldn't have bothered her quite so much if one of the shards hadn't nicked her right index finger going through an eye. It was hardly life threatening even to a human, but it startled Diva and caused her to give a short yelp.

In less time than it had taken to utter the sound, or the first drop of blood to fall, Karl was beside her as if his entire "watch Diva" shift consisted of nothing but standing around waiting for this to happen. Actually, that was just about smack-bang accurate.

"Diva?" He asked, kneeling beside her on the paved garden path. "Are you injured?"

She looked at her wound with some interest before holding out the finger to her Chevalier. It was already closing up. "Look, she tried to hurt me."

Pure reflex made his eyes widen, swivel left and right almost hopefully for the "she" his mind automatically connected with, until half a moment later he noticed the broken doll lying in Diva's other hand and common sense prevailed. He peered closely at the cut, just in time to see it disappear.

"You're fine," assured Karl. She gave him a sunny smile in return.

"I know."

"Do you want to keep the doll?"

It wasn't in Diva's best interest, nor did she normally keep broken things around when it was the breaking itself that appealed to her, but it never hurt to ask. Without so much as a glance good-bye, she unceremoniously dumped the doll's remains into Karl's arms, where he saw something that made him frown.

"Diva? Where did you get this?" It certainly wasn't one of the dolls he usually bought for her (you learned a few things working at a school full of girls), the kind that could go at least a few sessions with Diva before breaking and certainly didn't cut her delicate fingers when they did.

"Amshel," she replied, giggling when Karl muttered some comment about his older brother having no sense, hardly a biting insult but still something he never would have done anywhere near Amshel himself. "It's a shame, actually. She was so pretty…"

Karl sighed. Scooting closer, he laid a gloved hand on her shoulder as if she couldn't tear it off. "That's just the way it is. The pretty ones are always the first to break."

Diva scowled venomously, long past giggling in the blink of an eye. "That's not fair. Are you telling me it's impossible for anything good to exist in the world? It's not enough that you can't give me babies, I can't even have a nice toy without it being ruined?"

Her voice was wavering, the thinnest string wavering on some refined instrument ready to snap. And yet Karl felt no fear that she would lash out, biting or maybe snatching the doll back to throw at him, having lost his ability to feel honest pain in Amshel's labs. Only her accusation about the babies hurt, though he didn't let it show.

"No such thing, my beloved Diva," he said. "What I am saying is I'll get you a new doll the very moment I can."

After a long moment of tense silence, she gave her Chevalier a smile that (for the moment) assured him he would not be harmed bodily, for her snow globe world had returned to not-quite-harmony. "Thank you, Karl."

She placed a petal-soft kiss on his cheek, and with it gave him a reason to stay.

* * *

Years later, Diva sits near a window overlooking a city that shines even brighter at nighttime, a deep red robe draped over her shoulders like some sort of metaphor. The days of playing with dolls are over, replaced by the fluttering anxiety known only by a new mother waiting for her children to enter the world.

Karl is gone.

She hadn't even realized he was slipping away until Solomon showed her the red crystal flecks of shared blood, now nothing more than proof that he had shattered. The older Chevalier still has these, wherever he is, and Diva is content to let him, preferring to leave Karl where he lies. Taking the nights and days and taste of his blood, the way his áo dài always caught around his feet while never slowing him down, she lets it all die along with him. She will move forward, dutifully watching over the pair of cocoons, precious twin cradles so much more sturdy than even a chevalier's body.

She has already vowed centuries ago to be a good mother, but does so again now just to be sure. Her perfect daughters…that they have eternity together is not a blessing but a necessity, for there will be so much to teach them.

Someday, she thinks, they will play with beautiful dolls, as inevitably as they will find their own knights to pick up the pieces after holding one too tight (or not tight enough). She will be sure to tell them so they know.

The pretty ones always break first.

End


End file.
